Vanilla Spice

On John Hughes

Sun, 09 Aug 2009 21:30:50 GMT

Including a link to the two best media tributes to the writer/director/producer, and the only one that you really need to read.

http://theyellowmenace.wordpress.com/2009/08/09/teen-angst-plus-a-real-teen/

Thoughts on the music industry

Tue, 04 Aug 2009 02:58:56 GMT

Shut up about the cross-post and just click, already.
http://theyellowmenace.wordpress.com/2009/08/03/silence-is-not-always-golden/

That's Why They Call Them Crushes

Tue, 07 Jul 2009 21:57:00 GMT

Part of my youth just died.

I was a lad of 16, out of the closet for just over a year and hanging out at West Hollywood coffee shops way too often. I had just transfered from a special school which required me to commute to my local high school and, therefore, didn't have a summer reading list. I figured it was time to apply for a job. Fearing what a pork ball I might grow into in food service, I opted for mall retail. It is a decision I still regret.

The Gap and the erstwhile Structure both offered minimum wage. Eddie Bauer offered 75 cents more per hour. I went with the money.

The bottom floor of the mall featured a Trader Joe's store next to the automatic double doors. It had opened in the very early 1990s, when fans of the small grocery chain were still considered something of a cult. Back then, people wondered, who were these very young people going to work in T-shirts and blue jeans?

Every weekend, I worked two eight or nine hour shifts, and was always left looking for something to do for my meal breaks. Pretzel Time was okay for an occasional snack on a 15 minute break, but the only other option seemed to be the food court and, if anyone's never told you before, food court food tends to be pretty lousy. Instead, I wandered into the fluorescently lit Trader Joe's and found they had two (count 'em, two!) kinds of readymade salads in their refrigerator case. For a mere $2.99, I found sustenance in the Chinese chicken salad when I wasn't ordering quad-espressi from the Gloria Jean at the other end of the mall.

Somehow, I began talking to one of the cashiers. He looked vaguely Hispanic, with a wide-eyed expression that conveyed frantic energy and inquisitiveness, and made his peepers look bright despite being dark brown. His face was even a little thin with an eternal five o'clock shadow and the bottoms of his eyes looked slightly sunken in. His dark hair stood straight out of his head and his arms looked skinny but sinewy.

This was during the days when Trader Joe's employees all had to know the prices of every item in the store. They were late to adopt barcode scanners and price checks were performed by shouting out the name of the item, followed by a chorus of others barking the price back. Receipts were a dazzling mess of numbers ending in 9 cents and you wouldn't believe how quickly even the longest lines moved.

Every time he ended up being my cashier, I would talk to him and ask him how he's been. I almost always forgot to remove my name tag when I went on break, which gave me away as an Eddie Bauer employee. He had a soft spoken demeanor and soon we would shake hands every time I left the store and he would tell me to take care, flashing a bright smile with perfectly straight teeth.

If I felt I could have stimulated him intellectually, I'm sure I would have proposed.

A year of bad grades and late shifts passed and I went away to college. I worked the winter holiday at the mall that year, only to discover that the new hires were making more than I was, and the only way to get a raise was through the review process.

I don't remember when he stopped working at Trader Joe's but the store kept bustling as it ever did. Several years later, Trader Joe's opened up a larger store a few miles away and it was announced that my beloved location in the mall would close. The new store not only had barcode readers and slower service, but the ship's bells used instead of an intercom would be replaced by a sample of a bell.

Yesterday, my mother was getting annoyed with my father's presence in the house. He's only been retired since October so there's still a bit of getting used to around here.

"He's so annoying! Every time I want to do something, he's sitting right there!"

She yipped out my name and told me to go out with her. We had some fruitless attempts at consumerism at Target and Old Navy before she decided to go to Trader Joe's. We grabbed some sweet potato chips for her and some Canadian bacon for my breakfast and got in the express line.

And there he was.

His electrified hair had fallen into a slicked back mullet with defeated curls at the bottom. He had grown jowls besting even Angela Lansbury's. The flesh around his eyes had gotten so puffy that he looked sleepy and his eyes no longer contained that trademark brightness. The lithe figure of his youth had given way to a serious paunch. He wore a flesh colored Ace bandage around his wrist and forearm, making him look like he was assembled from pieces of Silly Putty that had been simply smooshed together, not even smoothed around the edges. Overall, the added flesh to his face and body gave him a doughy appearance. His voice was the last vestige that remained of his youth.

"Take care," he said, absently, not even any eye contact, and he began scanning the next customer's items.

A lot changes in 13 years.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go drive to the 7-Eleven and mood eat in the parking lot.

Movin' on up

Fri, 12 Jun 2009 03:38:57 GMT

In my old neighborhood, I used to have to watch my step or risk stepping on one of the used hypodermic needles found next to the high school or one of the used condoms on Broadway, usually closer to Myrtle. I went on a walk the other morning near my parents' house and spotted this.

Stupid phones, Part 12,663

Mon, 25 May 2009 19:01:30 GMT

I just tried to ask someone if he was "Still in Tahoe". My "smart" phone pre-empts my input and, instead of T–a–h–o–e, puts T–a–h–i–t. I know some people want to think smart phones are somehow glamorous and expensive, but please. Like I know anyone who's honoring our fallen soldiers by jetting off to the South Pacific.

Californians, please go vote

Tue, 19 May 2009 17:05:50 GMT

If you need some help, go here: http://theyellowmenace.wordpress.com/2009/05/12/your-legislative-anal-ist-special-election-endorsements/

Your Legal Anal-ist is at it again

Tue, 12 May 2009 18:53:33 GMT

Election. Next week. Vote.

Here are some recommendations.

Love is:

Wed, 25 Mar 2009 23:08:58 GMT

seeing the jobs you applied for months ago re-advertised.

The Daily Show on CNBC

Fri, 06 Mar 2009 17:10:58 GMT

I realize I'm a couple days late with this one, but if this is what passes for business reporting, why do I not feel better about leaving the industry?

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

CNBC Gives Financial Advice

Daily Show Full Episodes
Important Things With Demetri Martin

Political Humor
Joke of the Day

A shaky proposition

Thu, 05 Mar 2009 19:10:43 GMT

Watch the California Supreme Court's hearing on the validity of Proposition 8, which overturned the rights of same-sex couples to marry:

http://www.calchannel.com/channel/viewvideo/138

The music is dying

Thu, 05 Feb 2009 20:02:18 GMT

Lux Interior died today. Motherfuck.

La-da-dum

Mon, 26 Jan 2009 18:25:39 GMT

Check out the artist's Web site for more goodies, including a little bit of 2 Unlimited.

Open memo: Image sizes

Sat, 20 Dec 2008 03:02:36 GMT

Please stop posting images wider than 800 pixels. Doing so forces even the text in many Web browsers to require horizontal scrolling.

Thank you.

My musical can beat up your musical at Park Street Elementary

Thu, 04 Dec 2008 16:59:41 GMT

The final countdown

Wed, 12 Nov 2008 21:54:38 GMT

I was fine for most of Monday, my first day not temping at the law firm. I found a mechanic not too far away in Long Island City and, although I kept driving past it, I got there okay. I left the car there and went to a nearby diner with obscenely oversized gyros (pronounced "jye-rose"). The mechanic called soon thereafter and asked if I wanted to cut corners. I told him no, do everything and do it right.

The LIC location couldn't have been more convenient, as it was one block from Queens Plaza Station, where five different lines converge. I took the Brooklyn R to Times Square and transferred to the Bronx 1 so I could go to the AAA office. That's when my mood, as the Times is wont to say about the economy, "soured." The subway tunnels in Times Square are always crowded, and crowded with the wrong kind of people, evidenced by their countless shopping bags and nowhere to be except at the mall at 3:30. They had no idea how to walk, these people.

Once at Columbus Square and approaching the AAA building, I told myself, "Oh my god, I'm planning my drive back home."

I noticed Steve's computer had a Scriptwriter Plus window open and he proceeded to plan my route ... on the AAA Web site. Fortunately the trip planner gave him problems, which prevented me from thinking that I could have done this myself.

I left and went to the mall at the Time-Warner building, knowing that Sephora carries my hair schmootz but, once I stepped inside, I slipped briefly on a cotton swab. And then another. The store was packed and everyone was throwing their garbage on the floor. Then I noticed a line of people and realized that a line might lead to the cash register. It did. Then my ears picked up Italian, then Spanish, then French. Did nobody who wasn't dressed in a black smock come from the U.S.?

I quickly darted out of the building and, about 90 minutes later, I was home, where someone had tracked mud into my room and I killed adult male cockroaches. They're the ones with vestigial wings.

Just before stepping into Sephora, I spoke briefly with someone who asked about my Thanksgiving plans. He suggested I make an appearance with my parents and then go hang out with him, an idea which anyone who knows my mother would know isn't even an option. I doubt she even has power of attorney but she'd find a way to disown me anyway and, besides, I'd hurt her feelings.

I couldn't shake the feeling that I am moving from one brand of suck to another.

At least in New York, I'd lost 30 pounds. I did the math and realized that walking to and from trains when I was working and to a cafe afterwards totaled over 2 miles of walking everyday. If I walk to the train that takes me to my drinking haunts, that's another mile in each direction. Clearly, 4 to 6 miles of walking a day has done something. My secret to maintaining a healthy body weight is obviously to drink myself to death and, at bathhouses and adult video stores, the looks I got make me feel attractive and worth something for the first time in my life. I know that's foolish and shallow but my looks have always been something I've struggled with, ever since I was a small child. I know I have little choice but to get fat again once I move, and that strikes me as oppressively unfair.

In the meantime, I could sure use a drink.

Sí se puede

Fri, 07 Nov 2008 03:33:15 GMT

In an odd twist, one could immediately recognize the faces of two kinds of New Yorkers on Wednesday morning — homosexuals and registered Republicans — as the ones not beaming on their way to work.

Communities came together in throngs from Harlem, NY to Echo Park, Calif. early that morning in cathartic solidarity, beautiful masses of hopeful people. I'm not sure it gets much better than that. Around 1 a.m. Eastern, though, the text messages began to trickle in through clogged cellular networks and ex-Californians let out anguished groans and rushed to the nearest Internet connection to find Proposition 8 with a small but definite lead. Later still, Prop. 8 news began to hit the national broadcasts as civil rights observers the nation over had been closely watching the fight.

I'll admit to having fantasized about Calif.-based businesses issuing questionnaires about how people voted and then refusing services during my morning shower, just four hours after I had passed out. It's okay to feel upset as long as we don't fester in it. We haven't heard the last of Prop. 8.

Many have expressed disappointment by wondering what went wrong or by blaming the initiative's supporters. Sad but true, the campaign to ban same-sex marriage never stopped since Proposition 22, eight years ago. That measure was drafted and partially funded by Pete Knight; Prop. 8 was funded by his widow and they never stopped fundraising in the meantime. We could stand to establish a legal defense fund as well. Pro-Prop. 8 ads proved particularly effective by scaring people into believing that schools would be forced to teach about homosexuality and that churches that didn't perform same-sex marriages could lose their tax-exempt status, both of which are flat out untrue. Liberals seem afraid to fearmonger, but how much more effective would it be to tell the scary truth, considering that Latino and black voters overwhelmingly voted yes — we can say that a bunch of rich white folks are playing us for fools. Lots of the online anti-8 ads sounded great to a lot of people, but only as a matter of preaching to the choir. Spielberg contributed money, yes, but would it have killed him (or any other talented people) to direct anti-8 ads? Considering how many people voted on religious grounds, maybe we could canvas and hold more church events.

Others have expressed extreme sadness in light of the election results. My friends, I'm here to tell you, don't cry, dry your eye. This is not the be all and end all for same-sex marriage in California because of how easy it is to amend the State Constitution. The ballot initiative process exists in California to make up for when the legislature can't agree or doesn't think to create laws about important issues. For that reason, Cali has one of the longest constitutions in the union. Just remember that no constitutional amendment is above judicial or legislative scrutiny. Legal battles, the state Supreme Court and further amendments can still repeal Prop. 8. Yes, it's now a little harder because a constitutional literalist judge can point to the amendment and declare that their hands are tied and, because it came from the voters, it becomes harder to argue that the State Constitution provides leverage to enforce the will of the voters and lawmakers — arguments used in overturning Prop. 22.

That still doesn't mean Prop. 8 is constitutional. The California Constitution also contains a mandate that says singling a group out to deny them rights instead of expanding them is a gigantic no-no, and that was a large part of why Prop. 22 couldn't hold up to judicial scrutiny.

Most of all, we can't forget the all-important message from our first Hawaiian president-elect's campaign and acceptance speech. It wasn't sí se podía ("Yeah, we could've").

It was, and still is, sí se puede.

A small request

Fri, 24 Oct 2008 22:31:43 GMT

Please filter me from your political posts until Wednesday, November 5, 2008. Failure to comply will result in a probationary removal or filter from my Friends List until said date, depending on the severity of the offense. Further offenses will extend such probation until Wednesday, January 21, 2009, at which time I will evaluate the eligibility of your posts for addition or visibility.

If anyone else tries to counter with "...But it's an amendment to the state constitution!" the aforementioned statement will apply in real life a/k/a meatspace, in addition to online a/k/a cyberspace.

ALL CALIFORNIA STATE BALLOT PROPOSITIONS ARE AMENDMENTS TO EITHER STATUTORY OR CONSTITUTIONAL LAW AND, ONCE PASSED BY A SIMPLE MAJORITY VOTE, ARE SUBJECT TO ANOTHER AMENDMENT OR BATTLES WITHIN THE JUDICIAL SYSTEM, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO THE STATE SUPREME COURT. THANKS FOR PAYING ATTENTION, VOTERS. THIS IS THE REASON CALIFORNIA HAS ONE OF THE LONGEST STATE CONSTITUTIONS IN THE UNION.

Oh, and happy birthday, celticnoor and electrichobbit.

Love,
Vanilla Spice

:-/

Wed, 22 Oct 2008 01:03:10 GMT

...

Stupid phones

Thu, 18 Sep 2008 00:10:16 GMT

An alarming analysis surfaced last week involving the price of sending text mssages between mobile phones. Prices have more than doubled since last year and no link has been found to rising costs for phone service providers. About 8 years ago, mobile phone companies began charging customers to receive text messages where before, incoming messages and the first minute of incoming calls had been free. At that point, plans were available in 100, 250, 500 and 1,000 message increments. Now, for my provider, one can choose 200 messages, 400 with 1 megabyte of data transfer for the Web, 1,500 messages, or unlimited. Each of these plans is more expensive than what was previously available, and there's nothing in between 400 and 1,500.

This affects me because more and more people I know have gotten mobile phones with miniature keyboards used for typing messages — smart phones, they are called. They are often used to browse the Internet and workplaces love them because they're good at handling e-mail, which means more workers are leashed to their companies. I hate these phones because they ruin social gatherings. Try to eat dinner with someone whose boss issued them a Blackberry and they constantly check their phones to see if work has e-mailed them. If they're older, they hold the phones close to their faces and squint to read the tiny screens. Try to have a conversation at a bar with someone who has an iPhone and, if you make a point they don't know about or disagree with, they will insist on looking it up online, right there, often leaving you waiting while their Web search loads, instead of agreeing to disagree or looking it up at home. This has singlehandedly wrecked the flow of countless conversations. I hate this because I know I am exactly the kind of person who would look things up all the time and would lose what little I have in the way of people skills, and my social life would suffer accordingly.

Smart phone users love sending text messages — so much so that they put me at double my limit of 400 a month. This meant my bill was an extra $40 for the last few months.

I called some of them up and said, "If I'm still friends with you whores in 6 months, my bill overcharges will have been enough to pay for an iPhone!"

Some of them responded by sending me text messages.

"I figured it was appropriate," one of them said.

I have tried typing on Blackberries — Crackberries, as they are sometimes called — and found that my thumbs are retarded. I chalk this up to having grown up playing video games in actual video arcades, where one held a joystick with his left hand and pushed buttons using his index and middle fingers on his right. When console controllers were introduced, I had a hard time adjusting, and Blackberries are designed to be held with both hands, typing done exclusively with one's thumbs. The iPhone, however, is designed to be held in one hand, using the index and adjacent digits to perform "multi-touch gestures." I found myself able to type great missives with minimal effort, thanks in part to spell checking software.

Normally, I poohpooh Apple's portable devices because they restrict the free flow of information, relying entirely on the company's music playing program, iTunes, to transfer data. This has always been a big sticking point because I find it insulting that a company would install data transfer technology and then cripple it so it can't be used as originally intended. Verizon Wireless still does this with regards to its phones, crippling wonderful innovations like the Bluetooth standard for wireless data transfer, just to make sure they're still calling the shots of how phones they license are used. For that reason, I will not consider them as a carrier. Apple still has the edge on portable devices for one reason:

It's the interface, stupid.

Anyone can be shown how to use an iPod or an iPhone in just a few minutes. The interface is so simple and popular that other companies like Sonos use slightly modified versions of it and their products are, for that reason, very easy to use.

When I discovered that upgrading my text message plan would cost me as much as the premium I would pay for a smart phone plan, I had to really look at my life, including my lack of Internet access at home, thanks to my roommate who owes money to the cable company. The sheer ability to send e-mail messages and check job boards on the Web without making a special trip to a café would prove very useful. Then came the hardest pill to swallow: Regardless of whether I bought something new or not, I'd still be paying a lot of extra money every month, just because of my stupid friends.

Having run out of excuses, I am now the ashamed owner of an iPhone. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Murray Hill update

Tue, 05 Aug 2008 23:46:50 GMT

Thank you to everyone for your concern about the Murray Hill hotel. I am pleased to say that the matter has been handled internally, without the need for a messy publicity campaign, even if it meant being my own street team.

I spoke to the general manager over the phone last week and, while I was not granted a face-to-face meeting or assured of additional diversity or customer service training for the individuals involved, I do believe the GM's sincerity in communicating to them that such an incident should never have happened. Further, when he reiterated the offer of a free stay, he requested that my friend or I should contact him directly, and he framed the stay as a chance for the hotel staff to prove to us that "that is not what [it's] about."

For now, I am grateful for the closure.

Onward.

In the face!

Wed, 30 Jul 2008 19:54:38 GMT

There's nothing quite like slicing your lip open while shaving to tell you, "GOOD MORNING!"

Actually, it wasn't that bad. The only unpleasant part was the application of isopropyl alcohol. That was like kissing razor blades — oh, wait, I already did that! Ohhhh!

No, seriously, take my wife — please!

Re: heavily vascular areas:
•Bleeds a lot (–1)
•Clots quickly (+1)

Will work for money

Fri, 25 Jul 2008 15:31:42 GMT

I was told by Apple One to come in today for their standby positions. Mondays and Fridays are supposedly busy for last-minute calls. Get here by 8:30, they said, stay until 10 or so, and those are the first people we send out on these last-minute assignments.

I woke up 20 minutes late.

I missed the first train.

I got in around 8:45, but not before the security guard took his sweet ass time looking around his desk for nothing, trying to look busy. He didn't reach for a piece of paper, he didn't grab the phone, didn't watch any monitors, just refused to make eye contact.

No standby calls occurred before 10:30. I met two very nice women, though. One is named Adrianne, and she is a very capable executive assistant but can only work for a few months because she's got a big trip planned. The last time she traveled she got canned from a position after 10 years.

The other is named Maisa (or is it Maysa?). Just hearing her speak, you know she's in broadcasting. Turns out she's from Los Angeles, just like me, and just left the Bay Area, just like me. She probably only lives two stops away from me, too. Adrianne told her a neighborhood can't be too bad if there's a Starbucks, and I concurred. There are no Starbucks stores in Bushwick. We all laughed. I asked what kind of radio work Maisa was looking for.

She used to host the morning show on KBLX for six years. She is now waiting for standby assignments at Apple One.

We are all MOTHERFUCKING doomed.

During my standby, I got a call from a blocked number. Checked the message, it was another agency asking if I could take a half-day collating assignment. As soon as I got downstairs, I called back, about 45 minutes later. Already filled — strike two.

Unfortunate episode in Murray Hill

Thu, 24 Jul 2008 23:18:21 GMT

It's 1 a.m. on July 24, 2008. Two friends sit in the tony lobby at a Murray Hill hotel. They exchange a few fleeting pecks. Heads are put on the others' shoulders, hands are held. It's all so cute, isn't it?

That was until a security guard in a suit stepped in, vaguely resembling a younger, humorless Garrett Morris in large, gold wire-rimmed glasses. He was later identified to me as Mr. Xxxxxxx.

"You can't do that here," he said.

"We weren't doing anything, we were holding hands," I responded, already growing indignant because I knew where this was going.

"You can't hold hands here. This is a hotel lobby."

A brief and uncomfortable but not uncivil exchange followed. Mr. Xxxxxxx said we were in a "compromising position" and that he can't have us "doing anything that would make people uncomfortable." Suffice it to say that feet were on the floor, knees were below the waist, tongues were never brought out and nobody's reputation was at stake.

"You can sit and talk," he said, "but you can't hold hands."

That was when my friend, a guest of the hotel, asked to speak with a manager and was told, "Go ahead."

The manager on duty, who looked somewhat like a Spanish Charles Bronson, heard my friend's complaint. Mr. Xxxxxxx interjected his concerns as though he thought nothing was wrong, except something was very wrong: A guest in the hotel and a New York City resident were made, by a representative of the hospitality industry and of Xxxxxxx hotels, to feel unsafe and unwelcome.

Sensing that this could devolve into Mr. Xxxxxxx's word against ours, the manager suddenly grew very curt. He said he'd watch the tape, encouraged by Mr. Xxxxxxx, to make sure that nothing "obscene" had taken place.

"As long as nothing obscene is going on," he said, "You can do whatever you want," but the damage was already done. He asked if my friend's father was in the room, as though he were going to rat on us like teenagers violating curfew, except we're not teenagers: We're adults in our late twenties who know how to behave in public.

Go ahead and check the tape. I'm the one in the baseball cap.

My friend and his father, under whose name the room was booked, filed a complaint later that morning before checking out. They met with general manager Xxxxx Xxxxx, who assured them that Xxxxxxx regularly hosts events for the LGBT community, that this is not the hotel's policy and that nobody on staff has the right to tell guests how to behave, regardless of their perceived gender or sexuality. He also said he would talk to Mr. Xxxxxxx, the manager of security, and the evening's on-duty manager. He even went as far as to offer a free stay as a token of his apology.

What should happen then, if my friend stays at the hotel and gets harassed again by Mr. Xxxxxxx? What will prevent any of Xxxxxxx's guests from being made to feel unsafe and unwelcome?

I am not necessarily asking for Mr. Xxxxxxx's termination. I am not out for blood.

I would merely appreciate the opportunity to meet with you and speak about this experience and these larger issues. I will be in Manhattan tomorrow and may or not be working until 6 p.m. Please feel free to contact me at XXX.XXX.XXXX so we may find a convenient time to meet.

Sincerely,
Vanilla Spice

More from the mouth of madness

Tue, 15 Jul 2008 18:26:46 GMT

What do gay hipster karaoke, straight pride, American Idol and populism have in common?

They're the latest additions to the frothy head at http://theyellowmenace.com

Make new friends but keep the old

Mon, 07 Jul 2008 03:26:07 GMT

I got to hang out with some acquaintances from high school this week, which has been really nice. These are people I didn't disrespect during that era of my life which, believe me, is a rarity. I have lived most of my life putting up with most people instead of liking them. I'm so glad to re-connect with at least one of them after 12 years.

I got to see two fireworks shows simultaneously for the Fourth and, while fireworks aren't usually my thing, it was fun to hang out and I even got into a great conversation about the meaning of kitsch and the reacquisition of art items as national treasures.

The next day my new friend Matthew introduced me to a new friend, Nuvula, from Bologna, and her friends who left today. We had dinner, spoke a combination of English, Spanish, French and Italian over a bottle of white wine, then came the tequila shots and Makers on rocks. Nuvula and I talked about how she started traveling because there was so much heroin in her area that she couldn't hang out with a lot of her friends any more. I guess I seem to attract "serious" conversations. We walked over the Williamsburg Bridge and Nuvula wanted to ride Matthew's bike. She didn't brake enough. She flew into the fence on the Brooklyn side and face-and-bike-planted into the concrete. She is now at Bellevue Hospital (thank goodness she's not t Woodhull), where I think she'll be okay, but she's gonna have some scars. The bike is fucked up and there was so much blood, but Nuvula was awake, coherent and feisty. Matthew lives in a rough neighborhood and he didn't want to walk home late at night, so he crashed in my bed with me. I have a twin air mattress. I have been exhausted all day.

I finished work on a custom breakup mix for my friend and was going to print out the cover and track list, but then I noticed my printer didn't turn on. Then I looked at the charger for my lappy and noticed the charging LED was dark. Then I noticed the clock on the microwave was dark. I flipped all the breakers. Nothing. The neighbors downstairs have electricity.

Things are crazy. A nap and a sandwich helped. Wine is helping more.